Someday You'll Find Me (Eric Northman/ True Blood)

Crash and Burn

When Ciree and Stan arrived at my front door, Baker looked well; Ciree did an exceptional job caring for him. Not that I cared about Stan's well-being, but for now, he would be useful in my negotiations with the Queen.

"Ciree, my son." I beckoned him, caution cultivated my features as I stepped closer to my handsome child. "Stay here and protect your mother." It was my first command, and I hoped he would comply.

"Eric—I mean, Dad, where are ya'll goin'?" He asked, genuine concern was visible on his face, and at that moment, I wanted Ciree to know me better; I wanted him to be a part of me.

"Follow me," I asked of him and then took off as fast as I could; I was testing to see how fast my son really was.

And as I expected, he was fast... Fuck... he was fast for someone so young. He was on my heels in less than a second. He followed me as I led him to my balcony upstairs in my room.

"Blood bond with me, my son," I asked him as we stood alone; only the full alabaster moon would be our witness.

"Uh, yeah K..." His eyes became unbelievably big and round like his mother's.

With a little hiss, I bared my fangs, "Your turn..." I instructed him. For a moment, he stared at me, processing it all, and then, with a low growl, his impressive fangs dropped. Awkwardly, he glared at me as I slowly brought my wrist near his incisors, and finally, he absorbed what was happening.

"Oh yeah..." he mumbled nervously as I pulled his wrist to my mouth and pressed mine to his. When I bit down on him, he instinctively did the same to mine. His eyes squeezed shut as he drank from me, and I found my eyes growing heavy as I drank in my son. His blood was of sweet nectar, identical to his mother's. Immediately, my mind was seized, bombarded with strange and vivid images—mountain peaks, stormy seas, snowy landscapes, banquets, and women, many images of beautiful women. My son's future flashed before my eyes.

"We are one, Ciree. We are family now, my child."

"Yes, Eric—I mean, Dad." He beamed at me lovingly.

Now that I was bonded with both my Tara and Ciree, I left my house feeling sated.

It was after midnight when we arrived at my bar. Stan and I walked past a white Rolls-Royce with black tinted windows, two of the Queen's guards standing ominously in the parking lot. As we entered, I was immediately greeted by Pam, and abruptly my mind was swept into her nervousness. Of course, her perfectly made-up face displayed a condescending leer; she was a pro at not showing any vulnerability. But inside, she was agitated, slightly frightened. Sophie-Anne's visits always perturbed my progeny. She knew that our pockets would become considerably lighter once the Queen had her way.

Sophie and Bill sat at the bar. I slid onto the bar stool next to the Queen.

"To what do I owe this meeting, Queen Sophie-Anne?" I asked though I was sure my insolent aura superseded my forced smile and polite tone.

"Cut the bullshit, Northman. You killed my soldier, and your subordinate owes me a lot of money."

"How may I make amends, Ms. Leclerq?" I continued my polite facade, even though it pained me to be cordial to this greedy bitch and her opportunistic flunky.

"Don't fuck with me. You know what I want from you." She stood from her seat, hissing.

"How much...?" I asked, stifling my agitation.

"A hundred grand total. Seventy-five for Stan and twenty-five for killing Liam."

Fuck! This was becoming a routine I could not afford to keep having with this wretched whore.

"Eric!" Pam piped. "You aren't really considering paying this greedy cunt, are you?"

A guttural snarl ripped through the air, and in less than a second, the four-hundred-year-old Queen had my progeny pinned to the wall by her throat. "I thought you liked cunts, Pam!" Sophie growled, squeezing Pam's throat tighter.

I rushed over, grabbed the offensive woman, and flung her across the bar. Her backside slammed into a set of mirrors. Sophie's progeny felt her Sire's distress and rushed in. Suddenly, shards of wood splintered in my back as I was thrashed with a chair.

Pam instantly took on the young vampire, proving to be no match for my ravenous child. While I quickly stood to my feet, Pamela grabbed the baby vampire and threw her across the room. She landed on a table, crashing right through it.

A vengeful Stan took advantage of the opportunity and rushed Bill. The two vampires fought wrathfully. Suddenly, my ears were assaulted by the death wail of Sophie-Anne's progeny. I witnessed Pamela quickly and effortlessly send her to true death. A broken sharp edge of the wooden table was the weapon, the vampire burst open, and Pam was blasted by an endless spout of blood as the vampire dissolved into a bloody heap on the floor.

Sophie-Anne screamed from the pit of her gut as she felt the pain of losing a child. She rushed me, and I levitated a few feet above the ground in preparation. Sophie literally rose to the occasion, and we hovered several feet in the air, vehemence burning in her gaze.

A blur shot across the room, impossibly fast. My son. He drove a long silver knife into the back of one of the guards, penetrating his heart. The vampire expelled blood from every orifice, covering everything within ten feet. I recognized the knife. It was my hunting knife from my Viking days—a knife I could no longer touch. But Ciree could. My amazing son was immune to silver.

The other guard gasped in shock before swinging at Ciree, comically missing when my son ducked and moved halfway across the room in the blink of a vampire's eye. Fuck, he was fast.

"My turn, pumpkin," Tara hissed as she emerged from the shadows. She stalked toward the vampire, chanting, and with an unusual but graceful motion of her hand, the magic rendered the vampire immobile. With another motion, she summoned an unseen force, sending him crashing over the bar into shelves of alcohol bottles. Ciree rushed over and slit his throat with my knife. The wound was so deep the vampire was decapitated. His head lopped off and burst like a melon when it hit the ground.

I turned just in time to see Sophie lunging toward me with a broken bar stool leg, but before she reached me, her body became motionless, stiff as a board. My doll was chanting furiously, casting incantations in an unknown tongue.

Seizing the opportunity, I thrust my fist into her chest, ripping through flesh and bone, and pulled out her dead heart. I put an end to the ignoble Sophie-Anne in a fitting manner for such a wretched Queen.

After tossing her cold heart to the ground, I turned just in time to see Pam peeling off pieces of Bill Compton from her cleavage, fussing about her Armani dress being ruined. Ciree sat on my throne, weeping for Stan. Tara crashed into me, and we embraced.

All of our blood bonds chimed off each other through the death-filled air. My family was magnificent. We were a formidable clan. No one could fuck with us, and if they tried, they would feel our wrath.

"Pam, call upon our loyal servants. Order them to clean during the day while we sleep." Murdering the Queen was punishable by death. We were now fugitives.